Acceleration Waltz

by TwiGo

AU. 1950s, America. Anti-German sentiment is alive and well, and for most young people, destiny is already decided. But one American and one German may stray from their intended paths, and perceptions are always subject to change. America x Germany

23. Danse Macabre

Chapter 23

Danse Macabre

Ludwig had only ever had two wonderful Christmases in his life; those first two after he had been adopted, before Gilbert had left home.

Could say, at long last, that he was getting a third.

Alfred had given him an interesting one the year prior, but not a good one. For it all, though, Ludwig still had Alfred's card and that Iron Cross tucked away in his dresser, and he peeked at them when dawn broke, if only to see how far they had come in a year.

How extraordinary. The most surreal year he could have ever known.

He hadn't put much into anything this year, but he hadn't any year previous, either. Had never decorated, had never cared, because there was no point. That had changed in theory, but Ludwig found that, when it all came down to the wire, he was just too worried and too stressed to really put effort into Christmas.

Hung up an advent calendar this year, and that was all.

Alfred had tried to be a bit more proactive, pinning a few glittery items here and there, sticking a little Christmas tree the size of a kettle on the kitchen counter and dutifully decorating it.

Ludwig watched it blinking when Alfred had been gone, and tried to take some comfort in it as he waited fearfully for Alfred to make it home and for another day to end.

When he made his way downstairs that morning, it was with a sense of something that was a strange mixture of elation and melancholy. Waiting so breathlessly for Gilbert and Antonio to come over, and sad now that he hadn't put more effort into it when it would be Gilbert's first Christmas back together.

From what Gilbert had said, Antonio had gone all-out at his place, so perhaps there was no loss.

Just sitting on the couch with Gilbert would be more than enough.

Alfred came tumbling down the stairs shortly after, embraced Ludwig from behind, and kissed the top of his head, uttering, huskily, "Merry Christmas."

Ludwig smiled, holding Alfred's forearms, and teased, "No surprises today, alright? Behave yourself."

"You ask too much."

Alfred plopped down, staring at Ludwig rather calmly, and Ludwig reached out to smooth Alfred's hair.

"Are you going to go see your father today?"

Alfred's grimace.

"I'll check on him tonight, really quick. Won't stay."

"You won't go over to your uncle's?"

Alfred was strangely quiet, and Ludwig found his expression just as odd.

Eventually, Alfred just smiled, thinly, and said, "Nah. I'd rather be with you."

Adoration.

When the sun had risen fully, the lock jingled, and Ludwig found himself actually bristling with anticipation, exhilaration. When Gilbert came inside and was standing there in the frame, Ludwig meant to leap on him, but found himself rather immobilized.

That feeling.

Gilbert was dressed so neatly, well-groomed and looking very put together, and like that it struck Ludwig how much Gilbert looked like his father in certain features.

Exhilaration dulled, excitement died down, and it was a pleasant sense of calm that came up instead. Felt as if he were in some odd lull then, subdued and tranquil, and when Gilbert came into the kitchen, Antonio behind him, Ludwig just stood up and hugged him instead of tackling him.

The comforting scent of Gilbert. A kiss on his cheek.

Sometimes, Ludwig still wondered if he in was off in some dream.

Nightmares just occasionally crept in.

Now that everyone was present, Ludwig and Antonio banded together to make breakfast, as Gilbert and Alfred hovered a bit, waiting hopefully to be put to use. When they weren't, Ludwig could hear them reluctantly speaking to each other, and Ludwig was glad that Alfred couldn't understand how Gilbert (of all people) was fussing at him not dressing nicely and combing his hair.

Ludwig just smiled at the stove, and Antonio snorted.

Alfred, ever oblivious, blabbered on happily to Gilbert, who just sighed and shook his head.

...guess Gilbert hadn't been studying at all.

When they sat together at the table, it wasn't exactly breakfast that had Ludwig's full attention.

It was around then that Gilbert and Antonio really caught his eye. Couldn't put his finger on it, exactly. Just something about the air around them. Snagged his interest, and found himself staring at them from time to time. Every time Antonio spoke to Gilbert, he leaned in to him, very closely. Gilbert would smile, laugh, and sometimes he would nudge Antonio with his shoulder or elbow.

Curious.

Was likely nothing at all, and Ludwig turned his eyes to Alfred instead, and was satisfied that Alfred was actually being very well-behaved, despite how nervous he might have been. Couldn't have felt too great, being the only one there that wasn't in on the conversation, the only one that didn't speak German.

Ludwig leaned in to him, just as Antonio did to Gilbert, and whispered to him to keep him active and engaged.

They sat together in the tiny living room afterwards, Gilbert and Ludwig on the couch and Antonio and Alfred cross-legged on the floor.

A remarkable scene.

The agreement between the four of them had been to exchange no presents, because financially speaking it wasn't a great time for any of them, but it wasn't very surprising that Gilbert had broken the rule.

Sort of.

What Gilbert pulled out of his coat and stuck into Ludwig's hand was a small stack of stained and wrinkled envelopes. Looked as if they had been crammed in that coat pocket for years and years.

Not too far off the mark.

Gilbert stared at him, intensely as ever, and explained, "I kept on writing letters to you, for as long as I was able. I saved them, best I could. They got a little dirty, but hopefully you can still read them. Gettin' back to you—that's what kept me going in there, you know? Sorry I couldn't get ya anything else. Next year will be different."

Ludwig just stared holes into the stack of letters in his hand, and didn't speak. Couldn't, because he would have lost composure, and that was not appropriate right now. Not now. Had already seen Alfred break down, and didn't want to follow suit.

Gilbert grabbed him by the side of the head, yanked him in to kiss his temple, and seemed very much to agree, whispering in his ear, "Read 'em later. Don't you need you crying on me now. I still have drinking to do."

He laughed, hoping to god it didn't sound like a sob, and set the letters on the end-table.

Still, though, Ludwig looked over at Gilbert, and murmured in turn, "I kept all the letters you wrote, but when— I left them under my pillow. I'm sorry. I wanted to go back and get them, but I couldn't."

Gilbert shook his head, and Ludwig understood everything he wanted to say. No point in dwelling on it at this moment.

Alfred sat quietly upon the floor, arms folded on his knees and chin resting atop them, and seemed happy, despite being rather out of place.

The drinking started shortly after. Gilbert and Antonio had brought a good supply of wine, and Alfred had stocked up on beer.

One of his happier times, those long hours, as the four of them drank and loosened up and Alfred started speaking to Antonio and Gilbert eagerly, even though they couldn't understand him. Seeing Alfred and Antonio speaking, at long last, gesturing with their hands and cursing the other because they knew they could get away with it.

Ludwig just watched them, head rested on Gilbert's shoulder, and smiled.

Wonderful. Life could be like that, sometimes.

The phone rang hours later, and a tipsy Ludwig stood up, tottered right over onto Gilbert's lap, and stood up again with the help of Gilbert shoving at his back. When he picked up the phone, he had to pull it quickly away from his ear with a wince when a shrill voice all but screamed, "Merry Christmas, Ludovico! I miss you so much!"

Felicia was about as drunk as he was.

He snorted, brought the phone back up, could hear the loud party in the background (god! What an Italian Christmas must have been like!), and he replied, "I miss you, too. You're welcome to come over."

She accepted the invitation, but never came, and Ludwig didn't expect her too, from how far gone she already was.

Ludwig just spent the rest of the tipsy night using Gilbert as a pillow, and drunk Alfred and drunker Antonio seemed to come to some kind of odd allegiance and staggered together into the kitchen to drunk-cook dinner. How they hadn't burnt the house down, Ludwig could never say, but was hardly concerned about it at the time, cuddling with Gilbert and fussing over him as Gilbert enjoyed being the center of attention.

Needed this day, he really had. Had needed this reprieve from real life, from the outside world.

Needed to remember that there could still be good days yet.

The rest of the night was vocal and active, they used the very last of their clarity to play a game of cards, and even though Alfred didn't understand the rules or what he was really even doing he somehow still won.

Figured.

A bit of a blur after, as Alfred dragged staggering Ludwig upstairs and Antonio passed out on the sofa, Gilbert still hanging in there, too used to hard liquor to be taken down by beer, and was ransacking the kitchen the last Ludwig saw.

Alfred threw Ludwig on the bed, crawled in beside of him, and as the ceiling spun, Ludwig heard him opening the drawer on the end-table, and it took a long time for his eyes to focus when Alfred crawled half on top of him and stuck something in his face.

Really only came to when his eyes started itching and he realized he was being assaulted with glitter. Alfred realized it too and pulled back a bit, slurring, "Sorry!"

A card.

Ludwig snorted and took it, and rolled over onto his side so that he was facing Alfred as he studied it.

How familiar.

Alfred grumbled, crankily, "I hated your no-present rule. You ruined my plans."

"Sorry," Ludwig replied, even though he wasn't. Was terrified yet of Alfred's 'plans'. Alfred being fully unleashed was a frightening concept.

Alfred didn't need to know that Ludwig had broken his own no-present rule : he had crept out the day prior and bought flowers, and had left them with a note on Felicia's doorstep. Nothing grand, but hoped it would make her smile.

"Are you going to give me a card every year, apologizing for being a jerk?" Ludwig teased, as Alfred reached forward and clumsily tried to rub the glitter off of his face.

"Probably."

A long stare between them, and Ludwig finally glanced down and opened the card.

Nothing at all inside, except for a little scribble.

'I love you.'

A jolt of adrenaline. A rush of happiness, tinted with sadness.

Alfred had said it several times now, and was no doubt waiting for Ludwig to respond, to say it in turn, to receive a mutual vocal confirmation. And Ludwig tried, he really did, but just couldn't ever say it. Always choked, in the end, because he felt so foolish, trying to say something like that. Had been hard enough saying it to Gilbert, and somehow saying it to Alfred was horrifying.

Alfred's hand rested yet on his face, and Ludwig raised his eyes. Alfred stared at him expectantly, and Ludwig opened his mouth.

As always, nothing came out.

Why was it so hard to say?

Foundering and vulnerable, Ludwig just pushed forward and kissed Alfred and hoped that that would be enough, that Alfred could just understand somehow the way Ludwig felt even if he couldn't express it in words.

Alfred must not have been too upset; still held Ludwig up against him as they fell asleep.

He was working up to it, he really was. One of these days.

Gilbert and Antonio were still passed out when Ludwig came downstairs the next morning, and Ludwig fell still there and observed them with a lifted brow. Antonio was still on the couch where he had fallen, but Gilbert was right underneath him on the floor, the blanket shared between them, and Antonio's hand was dangling off, resting atop Gilbert's shoulder.

Fascinating.

Why? Antonio had been far handsier with Ludwig and it had never once made him think twice.

Oh dear—! Was he turning into Gilbert? Was he becoming the over-protective brother?

Ludwig shook it off, wandered into the kitchen, and maybe he really was overreacting because when Alfred came down he just glanced at them and walked straight by without a single second thought.

Still.

Gilbert and Antonio came by once or twice a week as they always had, and Ludwig watched them now when he hadn't before, scrutinizing and contemplating. Seeing Gilbert smiling and so happy and confident and calm was the most wonderful thing Ludwig could have ever hoped for, and Ludwig couldn't help but wonder how much of a part in that Antonio was playing.

Sometimes...

Even though he knew he was just being protective and possessive in a way, Ludwig wondered about them, he would admit. Was curious, because of the way they looked at each other. Could have just so easily been that Gilbert was unstable and attached to Antonio quickly because being isolated had made him that way, and Antonio was intimate by nature.

Wondering would be the extent of Ludwig's involvement, however, because he wasn't thoughtless enough to ever attempt to ask and make a fool of anyone. If Gilbert had something to tell him, then he eventually would. Even if the curiosity was killing him. Until then, Ludwig would mind his own business and enjoy Gilbert smiling. Didn't bring it up at all to even Alfred, because Alfred was nosy and tactless.

Was probably just in his head, spurred on by how easily both Antonio and Gilbert had accepted Ludwig for the way he was. Had just given him the wrong idea, was all.

He cast it aside after a while, because he had so many more things to worry about.

Being ostracized from the only community he had ever known.

Even though he was still supposedly 'welcome' in Rudolf's shop, Ludwig could have never shown his face there again, not after that, and so sent Gilbert in his stead, once a week, to procure whatever he needed. For anything else, he went to others stores, and some of them on Alfred's side of town, because being over there was somehow less embarrassing now.

How horrible that felt.

Treading into enemy territory, so to speak, because his own turf had decided he was no longer welcome. Often though, nowadays, he found himself wandering into the Chinese and Russian shops, because no one really seemed to even care that he was there at all. Would rather be pushed past and knocked aside like an invisible obstacle than be stared at.

Walking yet again, as he had so long ago, briskly and always glancing back.

If Alfred was no longer immune, then Ludwig knew well that his own safety had hit critical lows. Alfred was essentially the embodiment of the city itself; if he wasn't safe anymore, then there was really no hope left for Ludwig.

New Year's passed, much as Christmas had, sitting drunkenly in his living room with three of his favorite people. Felicia had come over that time, a few hours before midnight, but she hadn't stayed too long; Lovino had come to collect her. Ludwig had found that odd, as Felicia had always walked herself where she wanted. Odder yet was when she had kissed Ludwig's cheek in farewell outside on the step, and had said, tipsily, 'The door looks nice now, Ludovico! I'm happy.'

Ludwig tilted his head as Lovino dragged her away, and snorted to himself. Well, supposed a woman would notice details like that. Maybe Alfred had had a point—it had been very dirty.

Alfred was very loud and very excited as they watched the ball drop, and Alfred had grabbed Ludwig's arm, yanking him upright as if intending to kiss him, but Gilbert's high brow and leer stopped him short.

Ludwig just smiled, and hoped that this year wouldn't make him miss the last.

Hope; always fell short when he needed it most.

Didn't start off very well.

Seven days into the new year, Ludwig received the first altercation he had had with 'the other side' since Alfred had come along.

Had been so long that Ludwig had almost forgotten what it felt like, but it was a very unnerving sensation, coming home from work in the dark, trudging through snow, to see someone at his door.

And they weren't knocking.

Could smell the paint all the way from the sidewalk, and then came that rush of shock, anger, terror. He struggled a bit to see in the dark, but didn't really need to. Knew this scenario so well. Had been here so many times before, but always from safely behind the door. Had never been outside during the vandalism, and didn't know what to do.

Just walk away? Dart off and hide somewhere until they left? Couldn't just go slink over to the widow across the street anymore; she didn't open the door for him. No one here would help him now. Alone and isolated.

He knew the best course of action was to just leave, knew it, because that was what had always kept all of them from getting into more trouble than they wanted or needed.

But he didn't that time, not that time.

Ludwig rushed forward, and cried, in his harshest voice, "Hey! Get away from there!"

Had never dared to speak up any other time they had defaced his door, but Gilbert and Alfred had given Ludwig courage and confidence that he hadn't had before.

Didn't do him any good, of course.

The man just glanced over, so casually, and shook the can nonchalantly as he drawled, "Oh, hey. Look who it is."

Went right back to painting, and Ludwig, knowing he had no power, was forced to a halt, fists clenched and feet braced and chest tight. Unspeakably furious, and unable to act upon it.

Still, because he was so angry, Ludwig tried, one more time, "Get out of here!"

The man snorted, not even gracing Ludwig with a look that time, and just said, "Hey, sit still. Wait right there. I'm gonna spray-paint you, too, when I'm done here."

A pang of humiliation, and dumbly Ludwig looked down at his shirt, irritated that he had on clothes that he really liked today. Could feel his face blazing red.

Felt so stupid.

What could he do about it? Nothing.

Ludwig stood there, eyes on the sidewalk and lips pursed, unmoving and passive, because that was what he had always done in the face of aggression. Knew better than to make things worse than they needed to be. Would have held his chin up and glared defiantly, but he really couldn't stand the sight of his door being defaced like that. Stung too much.

He'd always been a spectator before, and so he was now. Standing here waiting, as he had always waited. His life was one long wait, for one thing or another, and this time he was waiting for that man to finish up and then make good on his word to paint Ludwig as he had the door. Could honestly say he would rather be pummeled again. This felt worse, somehow.

Had been a long, long time, since they'd come to his door.

Well. Not so long, huh? Alfred painting the damn door. Of course. Yeah. Sure, maybe in the very back of his mind Ludwig had been suspicious, had had doubts, had wondered, but it was so much easier to believe Alfred. Felt so much better to just believe him.

Had been lying to him for so long, and Ludwig had been utterly blind to it. Alfred had tried his best to shelter him, but that had long since passed.

Wished Alfred would have just told him the truth.

Sudden heavy footsteps were marching up, a flash of movement, and Ludwig lifted his head up with a gasp, because he was worried that Alfred had somehow come home early and was about to raise holy hell.

When Ludwig's eyes focused, however, he was actually concerned that he had been knocked unconscious and was just dreaming.

Not Alfred.

Luna Lovi had come barging up, out of absolutely nowhere, materializing from the night, and Ludwig watched in utter shock and astonishment as Lovino suddenly wrenched a hand in that man's hair, slammed his head right into the door, whirled him around, and pressed a gun into his temple.

The can of spray-paint clattered to the concrete below, the man's nose was bleeding, and Lovino had leaned in so close that their chests were pressing together, and Ludwig had honestly never heard Lovino's voice so low and deep and rumbling.

He wasn't screaming like he always had when he had been scaring men away from Felicia. Wasn't shouting, wasn't bellowing, wasn't loud and making aggressive gestures with his hands. Was very still, and very quiet, very focused, and that was honestly the only time in their history knowing each other that Ludwig could say he was actually truly scared of Lovino. Felt that, in that moment, he was seeing Lovino being honestly dangerous.

His voice was so low Ludwig almost couldn't hear it at all.

"What are you doing out here, huh? You didn't ask my permission to come here. This is my neighborhood. Who are you? Huh? Did you ask my permission to come here? Did you ask me if you could touch this door? Huh? What are you doing here?"

No answer was given nor was it expected; Lovino's fist had dropped and he had instead pressed his thick forearm into the man's throat, choking him, and there was no possible way he could have spoken at all.

Ludwig actually shivered a little at the sound of Lovino's voice. Had never heard him murmur like that.

...was this happening?

It was one of the most surreal moments of Ludwig's life, honest to god it was, being behind Luna Lovi instead of in front of him.

Shocked, absolutely and completely shocked.

And yet, somehow, underneath it all, Ludwig felt strangely...devastated. How sad, how pitiful, how unfair, that suddenly the only person that would stand up for them now was a man that had once shoved a gun in Ludwig's head. That they were so ostracized and so taboo that even people that had once been supportive had turned.

The Germans wouldn't watch out for Ludwig anymore, because of his relationship with Alfred, and so it was Lovino, of all people, that had come forward. Lovino, who had hated Germans as much as Alfred's father had, who had detested Ludwig from the first time they had crossed paths, Lovino, who had sworn that Ludwig would never once be a part of Felicia's life.

Lovino came to Ludwig's aid when old friends had turned aside.

Sad.

The only people they had left were those precious few friends. The world have turned against them. Nowhere to go, and no one to turn to. No way out of it, and no way back. Couldn't just make everyone forget, and sometimes Ludwig wondered what really upset everyone more; that they were both men, or that Ludwig was German and Alfred was not. Maybe both of those things together made them more of a target than they would have been had it just been one or the other.

Honestly, Ludwig was truly amazed that he hadn't yet been arrested and deported. Got worse every day, and Ludwig wondered if he should start preparing himself for that possibility. Seemed like such a real fear, when the only person here now to help him was that deadly quiet Lovino.

A long, rather terrifying stare, Lovino's forearm still keeping the man from breathing, and then with words Ludwig couldn't hear, Lovino grabbed the man by the shirt and quite literally threw him aside. He fell, picked himself quickly up and began his mad dash away as Lovino kept the gun on him, and Ludwig was fairly certain that that man would never come over into this side again.

Didn't mean he would be the last.

Lovino spat a curse at the man's back as he vanished, put his gun back in his belt, and then turned around to stomp over to Ludwig. He fell short a good distance away, staring Ludwig down as he always had, reaching up to smooth back strands of hair that had fallen loose in his scuffle.

Ludwig just stood there, staring back at him, and knew he was slumped, knew he must have looked so miserable then. Hell, thought he saw a flash of pity on Lovino's face.

Pathetic, he really was. None of this seemed right.

Wondered why Lovino was doing this, suddenly. Wondered if it had been Felicia or Alice that had forced his hand, had demanded it of him. They surely had to have been whispering favors to Lovino for a while now, but Lovino had never once lifted his hand until that moment.

Wondered what had changed.

A long, horrible silence, as Lovino scrutinized him, and then Lovino took one step forward, putting them within arm's reach of each other, and Ludwig just couldn't seem to pick up his chin. Had been so long since he had felt so defeated.

Lovino opened his mouth, stopped short, crinkled his brow, and suddenly looked very awkward and very uncomfortable. All the same, after a long struggle, Lovino finally found his voice long enough to utter, in a low rumble, "Anyone bothers you from now on, you tell me. Got it?"

Ludwig just stared at Lovino, still so slumped, and for whatever reason he just wanted to huddle up somewhere and cry.

Surely Lovino saw that.

Lovino looked so uneasy then, so agitated, and when Ludwig didn't say anything, Lovino finally gave a gruff exhale of air and stepped forward again, punching Ludwig on the shoulder. Not quite so hard.

"You bastard," Lovino said, holding Ludwig's gaze, "If you would just fight back for once, it wouldn't be so bad. Why can't you ever just fight back? I never got it."

Ludwig just shrugged a shoulder, because he didn't know what to say.

Somehow, Lovino seemed more uncomfortable than anything that Ludwig wasn't speaking to him.

"You're not even gonna tell me if someone bothers you, are you?"

Silence.

Because he wouldn't, he really wouldn't.

Lovino knew it, too, and suddenly he wrenched his huge hand up in Ludwig's collar, gave him a throttle, and they were chest to chest, Lovino's nose nearly bumping into his own as he kept on trying to stare Ludwig down into the dirt.

Didn't need to try—Ludwig was already there, thanks.

A low hiss.

"That wasn't a request. Unless you want me to start following you everywhere, you tell me. Tell me, or I swear, I'm gonna get your brother to tell me instead. And we both know you don't want him knowing."

A jolt of adrenaline, as Lovino's fist threatened to strangle the life out of him.

Couldn't really argue with that, and didn't know what to do, because he absolutely didn't want Gilbert to know about any of this, none of it, because Gilbert was a loose cannon and even Lovino knew that.

What could he do?

Finally, at last, Ludwig conceded with a deep, "Alright."

Lovino let him go, and stepped back.

With that, apparently satisfied, Lovino turned on his heel and started walking off.

Ludwig found his voice enough to called, "Lovino."

Lovino stopped, and looked back.

"Why are you doing this?"

A long, stiff silence, as Lovino stared rather blankly at him, and then, after a look around, Lovino scoffed and grimaced. Looked almost angry, suddenly, hands in his pockets and chin held up. When he spoke at last, his voice was guttural. Hardly a whisper.

"Felicia came to see you a few weeks ago. You weren't home. She saw what was written on your door. She cried all night. I couldn't get her to stop crying, and I— I promised that no one would ever make her cry. She asked me to keep an eye on you. So. That's why. I ain't doin' it for you. I'm doin' it for her. That's why you better tell me, or else."

An awful pang of hurt and shame.

Hadn't ever wanted that, hadn't ever wanted Felicia to cry. Not her. Would have gone to the moon and back to keep her happy.

Lovino had started walking off again, and once more Ludwig called, "Lovino.'

Once more, Lovino stopped, and turned back.

"Tell her— Please, tell her that I'm sorry."

So sorry, that that had ever happened, that she had ever felt that way, that she had ever been so upset. Felt like he was the one about to cry, as his eyes stung and his throat clutched up. His worst nightmare, he swore it, Felicia crying like that.

Lovino stared at him, long and hard, and Ludwig thought that maybe his low brow had come up, just a little bit.

Snow began to fall again.

Eventually, Lovino just lowered his chin a little, snow caught in his lashes, and said, simply, "No. I'll tell her you said 'thanks'."

Understood. So she wouldn't cry more.

Lovino gave him a final look-over, a final judging, and then walked away.

When he was gone, Ludwig went up to his door, and felt exhausted. Damn. Had almost forgotten how bad this felt. The man hadn't had a chance to finish, but it was very clear what he had intended to write, another word that Ludwig had had unfortunately added to his repertoire of slurs in these past years.

Wondered what Alfred had painted over.

Was there enough paint left over for one more erasure?

Meant to go and find out, but found himself immobilized.

That awful image in his head of Felicia bursting into tears in front of this door. Couldn't take it.

Played on a loop.

He was still staring at the door when Alfred came back, and as much as that horrible vision in his head of Felicia, he wished to god he had never seen that look on Alfred's face then, as he realized that more of his lies had come to light.

Hands on his shoulders, as Alfred kissed the back of his neck briefly and proceeded to shove Ludwig forcefully through the door and inside. Alfred spied the can lying there at the last second, snatched it up, and shut the door.

He pushed Ludwig down into the kitchen chair, can held yet, and as Alfred stared at it as if in a daze, he suddenly asked, almost hopefully, "Did you— Did you scare 'em off?"

Ludwig held his chin in his palm and stared at the wall, and didn't respond. Felt rather out in space.

Alfred paced around for a while, as if lost, and then finally sat down in front of Ludwig, looking quite defeated in some way.

The first thing Ludwig said, when his senses came back, was, "You lied to me."

Again.

Seemed rather silly by then to even bother pointing it out, but didn't know what else to say.

Alfred's eyes were downcast, hands clasped there upon the table, and there was a long, heavy silence, before Alfred finally rumbled, gruffly, "Sorry."

Hadn't really wanted an apology, because Alfred likely didn't really mean it, wasn't really sorry, and that was because he didn't need to be. Alfred's lies hadn't been malicious, had had good intent, and Ludwig was aware of that, even if it stung a bit. Wished that Alfred had told him the truth, but at the same time wished that he still didn't know. Was so much happier believing Alfred's lies.

And really, was it Alfred's fault for lying or Ludwig's fault for being dumb enough to believe it?

They spoke no more, and it was Alfred who went to the closet and pulled out the little can of paint. Ludwig didn't go out, and didn't know if there was enough left to fix it. Almost didn't care. He went upstairs as Alfred painted, took a shower, and went to bed, burrowing under the blanket and feeling far too much like he had just gone right back where he had come from.

Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

He had nearly drifted off by the time Alfred came to bed much later.

More silence.

Better that way, sometimes, and Ludwig stared at the wall as time passed.

Somewhere, later into the night, an awful thought started creeping into Ludwig's head, and he couldn't get rid of it. That thought.

They lied there, Alfred's arm around him and face buried in his hair, and Ludwig didn't even know if Alfred was still awake when he finally breathed, hours later and out of nowhere, "If I get deported, will you look after Gilbert for me?"

That horrible thought of leaving Gilbert behind, of finding him only to lose him again. Deportation wasn't a foreign thought by any means, but now suddenly it was Ludwig who could have been the one shipped out instead of Gilbert, with one wrong move.

A sharp inhale, and the arm around him tightened its grip to the point of being uncomfortable.

Alfred's voice was rough from creeping sleep as he grunted, sternly, "You're not getting deported."

Saying it didn't mean it would be so, and men 'like them' were arrested all the time. Imprisoned. Ludwig wouldn't be imprisoned, because being arrested would mean immediate deportation, and maybe Alfred was still pretending. Fooling himself. Ludwig had pretended, too, and understood the need to push something dreary out of focus, but it crept on him more and more, that awful ache of dread. Of being sent home and having to leave the men he loved behind.

Gilbert.

So Ludwig said, softly, "Just make sure he doesn't get into trouble. It's not your responsibility, I know, but—"

"Shut up," Alfred snapped, his voice deeper and thicker and trembling, and Ludwig regretted it, but just wanted to know that Gilbert would be kept in line, would still be held accountable. Needed that structure of family.

Gilbert needed someone to chide him.

He didn't press Alfred further that night, letting him cool off, and put it on the list of things to do. Alfred owed them nothing, he knew that, but Alfred was the only person Ludwig trusted, and liked to think that he could at least get Alfred to promise to check in on Gilbert once a week or so. If only that. Just that. Antonio would take care of him the rest of the time.

Ludwig would just languish across the sea.

He closed his eyes, tried to go to sleep to get one more miserable day over with, and a long while later, when Alfred's breathing had steadied, there was a soft whisper.

"If it ever happened...I'd follow you. I won't leave you alone."

Awe.

It didn't matter if that was more of Alfred's pretending, his lying, his way of keeping himself moving forward. Didn't care, he really didn't, and he squirmed around in Alfred's arms, threw his own around Alfred's neck, pushed their foreheads together, and clung to him.

Woke up for the first time that night.

Just hated that it had to be to the sight of that miserable looking Alfred, and in the dim light Ludwig could see the water in his eyes.

Again, Ludwig opened his mouth, and this time he had managed to utter, "I really..."

Failure.

Tried so hard, so hard, and all Ludwig managed at last was, "I don't care where I am, if we're together."

Alfred pressed his head into Ludwig's neck and didn't speak.

That was the closest Ludwig had come to gathering the strength to utter those words at long last to Alfred. To say 'I love you'. He choked, couldn't complete the task, failed in the end, but he felt that he was drawing closer and closer every day to finding his voice. Had been so close that time, he had. So close. Just one more push, one more try, and he would have it.

So close.

One day, he would say it.

---

Not so long ago, Ludwig had picked himself up out of the dirt and said, 'Not yet.' And then again, and then again, and again. Had been harder and harder each time, and then, when Ludwig had failed to pull himself up, Alfred had hauled him forcibly upright.

Ludwig looked around now and realized that he was close to being back in that loop. They pushed him down, and he picked himself back up. When he couldn't do it alone, Alfred came to his rescue.

For Alfred, though, Ludwig usually found the strength to find his own footing.

Had come too far to lose now. Wouldn't budge. Wouldn't fold. Wouldn't back down, and he wouldn't give up.

Winter was steadily fading. Spring was close.

Ludwig weathered this new storm as he had all of the others, and in some way it truly wasn't anything new. It was the same old thing; merely the reason had changed.

This time, when Ludwig walked along and someone sent him a dirty look, it wasn't because he was German; it was because he was 'funny'. When he went down the sidewalk close to home and a patrol car came sliding up next to him, the window rolling down and the police officer asking him what he was up to, it wasn't because he was an immigrant; it was because he was 'lewd'. When he went into a store now and was promptly asked to leave, it wasn't because he was a 'Nazi'; he was just 'improper'.

Looking over his shoulder and realizing that he was being followed at a distance.

Funny how everything was exactly the same and yet so different.

Missed being able to go on walks with Alfred, but it wasn't safe. They went on their various errands at different times, and there were no more strolls in the park. No more waiting for it to rain so that Alfred would sling his jacket over Ludwig's shoulders. Of all things, Ludwig could say he missed that the most.

Had to walk alone now, and yet even that was hazardous, because there was no backup should something go awry. So far, in that aspect, Ludwig was yet fortunate. Had been followed numerous times, but nothing had ever come of it except fear.

Ludwig had more wariness now of seeing a police officer than anyone else, with that shadow of deportation always looming over him. That was why they had to walk alone now, wasn't it, because impulsive Alfred couldn't be entirely trusted not to reach out and touch Ludwig, and had there been the wrong cop there at the wrong time, it could have so easily been over.

Public indecency. Had Alfred's name written all over it.

Ludwig was used to it, he really was, and so it wasn't truly devastating. What hurt Ludwig the most, more than anything else, was that Alfred was now experiencing what that was like, and although Ludwig had certainly once wished that upon him that was no longer the case. Seeing proud, bold, confident Alfred being thrown down to Ludwig's level was painful.

Hated seeing that awful look on his face.

On top of that, now there was the solitude again.

Alfred was gone so much lately, because his father was apparently getting worse.

Ludwig, as always, was patient with him, but hated him being gone because it was rather frightening in those moments that he was alone.

Well—not completely alone.

Ludwig looked around frequently now, paranoid as he was, and noticed that he often saw Lovino's face, here and there. Certainly wasn't a full-time bodyguard by any means, but Ludwig saw him at least twice a week, as if he were checking in because Ludwig hadn't come crying to him yet. Lovino didn't trust him to report dutifully as requested, no doubt, and was coming by to observe. Sometimes Lovino followed him at a distance. Sometimes he just looked Ludwig up and down and then walked away. Sometimes Lovino crept up so close behind him that Ludwig would have crashed into him if he had turned briskly around.

Likely, Lovino's silent presence was the reason Ludwig was followed but never accosted.

Lovino had spent years asserting his dominance over this part of the city, as best he could, and even if no one took Lovino all that seriously, no one really wanted to mess with a man carrying a gun. Lovino pretended to be bigger than he was, more important, but occasionally that was enough to deter people.

Felicia had no doubt intended for Lovino to make this a daily habit, but Lovino wasn't quite that easily bent. Couldn't be bothered to check on Ludwig every day, although he probably lied to Felicia and claimed that he did.

Sometimes, it was Ludwig who found Lovino, by accident, arm in arm with Alice and being led along like a dog.

Surreal still, no matter how many times he saw Lovino.

How different the world truly was now!

It wasn't all bad. His favorite instance of seeing Lovino, so far, had been when Felicia had come by to visit. Lovino must have followed her, as protective as he was and given the new harassment, and when Ludwig went outside with Felicia clinging to his arm, he saw Lovino lurking around the corner, arms crossed and brow low.

Felicia saw him, too, and the look she sent him was one Ludwig hadn't seen.

Was so used to seeing them fight, arguing constantly, and so to see Felicia send Lovino that adoring look, and to see Lovino in turn lift his chin, face much softer and brow high, nearly smiling, was quite entrancing.

Ludwig's favorite moment with them.

Felicia's happiness brought Ludwig his own, and when Lovino's eyes fell on Ludwig, it was clear enough that he felt the same, and that his little sister was happy was enough for him.

The first time, perhaps, that Ludwig and Lovino had ever understood each other.

Lovino tailed them for their entire walk, and when it was time to say goodbye for the day, Ludwig leaned down, Felicia grabbed him around the neck, and with some swift maneuvering he had picked her up and had her up on his shoulders like a little kid would ride about on their father. He delivered her neatly to Lovino as she squealed and clung to his neck, and when she slid down and Ludwig stood up straight, Lovino was actually smiling. Had never seen that before, and Ludwig could actually say that Lovino was rather handsome when he smiled. Almost had the look of Felicia about him. Must have been on a different planet. The only explanation for any of this.

Ludwig didn't know if he had done it to make Felicia smile or to get that very reaction from Lovino, but accomplished both ends.

Felt nice to see them happy, even if it wasn't as easy for him to be.

Antonio was the only one nowadays that seemed oblivious to their situation, Gilbert a bit less so but certainly not fully in the loop. As much as Alfred had lied to Ludwig, Ludwig lied to them, because there was absolutely no point in dragging them down. All they knew, so far, was that Ludwig wasn't really welcome in the German community. Didn't need to know more than that.

That had infuriated Gilbert enough as it was. God knew Gilbert certainly didn't need to know about slurs on his doors and nosy police officers and body checks in the street. Gilbert was volatile enough. Didn't ever want to set him off.

Didn't need to, because other people did that quite well enough on their own.

One day, Gilbert had set off to the shop with a list of Ludwig's needs, but had come back looking very hassled and very agitated, throwing the bags on the kitchen table and keeping quiet.

Odd.

Gilbert was shifting his weight back and forth, looked a little abashed and maybe a little guilty, and Ludwig stared at him quite intently until Gilbert finally cracked. With a look around, a grimace, and a scratch of his hair, Gilbert finally grumbled, weakly, "So, Lutz! Uh—don't think I can run anymore shopping errands for ya."

A surge of dread.

Immediately, Ludwig asked, thinly, "What did you do?"

Gilbert waved his hand in the air, trying to appear casual, and his voice was low and deep when he said, "Well, I mighta sorta, uh, got into it with the owner."

Ludwig's brow came down, and he could only imagine what Rudolf had done to earn Gilbert's wrath.

Didn't get to ask, because Gilbert quickly added, in an ever deeper tone, "There's a possibility that I mighta punched him. I may or may not be allowed back in the store."

"Oh, for god's sake, Gilbert!" Ludwig cried, as Gilbert shuffled about, and he hung his head shortly after when it started pounding.

They may have turned against him, but those people had still taken him in in his time of need.

A muttered, "Sorry."

Ludwig buried his face in his hands, and after a moment the chair scraped the tile as Gilbert plopped down beside of him and threw an arm over his shoulder.

A louder, more sincere, "I'm sorry. I really am. I just got so mad."

Ludwig lowered his palms, looked over at Gilbert, and asked, "What did he do?"

A hesitation, as Gilbert shifted yet so irritably, and he appeared quite angry when he said, testily, "He asked me how you were."

Ludwig's brow crinkled ever lower, his lips pursed, and the look he sent Gilbert then would have burnt up anyone else. Of all things to get so worked up over! Had to be such a simple question.

Before Ludwig could say anything, Gilbert went off, clenching Ludwig with one arm as his other hand gestured angrily, and his voice was loud when he added, "How stupid is that? How the hell can he stand there and look me in the eye and ask how you are? Huh? What does he care? They're the ones who said you weren't welcome, so where do they get off asking me how you are? Huh? Try explain' that one to me, 'cause I don't get it. It made me so mad, because he doesn't fuckin' care, none of them do. If they did, they wouldn't be doing this. I wasn't gonna let him ask me that without telling him what was what. Who the hell do they think they are?"

Ludwig was still under Gilbert's arm as he ranted, and well...

Couldn't ever be angry with Gilbert, and to be fair, Gilbert did have a bit of a point. The community had shunned Ludwig, and it was more than a bit hurtful to have one of them inquiring about how Ludwig was doing when they had been the ones to throw him aside. Any one of them could have called, could have knocked on the door, if they really wanted to know how he was doing.

Never did.

They didn't care.

Ludwig's only real sentinel in this neighborhood now was Lovino, pitiful as it was. No one else cared about him.

Time passed, oblivious of Ludwig's hurdles.

The snows melted. Spring was high.

An unexpected surprise came along with the first blooming of the flowers.

A knock on the door.

The knock itself didn't surprise Ludwig until he actually opened up.

He had thought in some part of his mind that it was Rudolf, maybe, coming to check on him out of guilt after Gilbert's punch.

But no.

The man that stood on the other side was one it took him a good minute to recognize, and Ludwig had been immediately terrified because he realized that he had opened the door so thoughtlessly with the way their lives were now. So dangerous, so stupid—why had he done that?

Fortunately, for once Ludwig's luck held out.

Recognized the man shortly after, if only vaguely.

Before Ludwig could actually open his mouth and say anything, however, the man beat him to it.

"I'm Francis," he finally said, and he made a rather extravagant point of holding out his hand. "I don't think we were properly introduced last time."

Ah, yes, that was it! Alfred's uncle.

Ludwig opened his mouth, realized he had absolutely no clue as to what to say, and so just took the offered hand and gave it a good shake. Felt rather dumbfounded if he were honest, and Alfred's uncle must have known that, if only from the look on Ludwig's face.

"Apologies," he said, so very casually, "I was waiting and waiting for Alfred to bring you over so I could meet you, but he was taking too long. I figured I should just come over and visit for myself."

Didn't know what to do, so Ludwig just held open the door politely and said, at last, "Come in."

Alfred's uncle accepted the invitation, and Ludwig was alarmingly close to feeling nauseous when he stepped inside. That awful pressure of meeting your significant other's family for the first time, after they had made it clear they didn't really want much to do with you.

Why had he come?

Ludwig waved his hand to the kitchen table, Alfred's uncle sat, Ludwig followed suit, and there was a very long silence as they stared at each other. Incredibly awkward, very strange, and Ludwig was very quick to avert his eyes.

What was he supposed to say?

Hoped, above all else, that he didn't actually throw up, the way his stomach was twisting.

Ludwig stood up very abruptly, and when he started making coffee, Alfred's uncle finally spoke up.

"So, what's your name? I don't think I ever caught it."

"Ludwig."

His voice had cracked, from his anxiety, and he hoped Francis hadn't noticed.

A noise of contemplation.

When Ludwig turned around, leaning against the counter, arms crossed nervously and glancing at Francis in intervals, he could see that he was being very intensely observed. He shifted his weight, knowing full well that he was being judged, and felt horrifically embarrassed for whatever reason. Perhaps Francis had come by to see if Ludwig was up to his standards for his all-American brat of a nephew, and he was very likely going to be disappointed.

Handsome, charming Alfred was far out of Ludwig's league, and yet here they were.

When Ludwig could keep his eyes on Francis just long enough, though, he could very easily glimpse Alfred there upon his face. Most noticeably in his eyes and chin. Certainly related.

But Francis wasn't American, that was easy enough to tell, and Alfred hadn't ever offered any information about his family at all.

When the coffee was finished, Ludwig poured two mugs and as he sat back down, he gathered the courage to ask, if only to find some common ground, "Where are you from?"

The knowing lift of Francis' brow.

"France."

"Oh."

Failure.

Great. Even more awkward. Easy to sit there and take it all in, and realize that Alfred had not only a war hero father, but an uncle from France. Had grown up with English Alice. No wonder Alfred had hated them all so much. Supposed it had been the perfect storm, really. The sacred trinity. Did Alfred have a Russian cousin somewhere else in the family tree? Would have been perfection, really.

No common ground there at all.

Ludwig stared down into his coffee, and he must have looked quite as miserable as he felt, because Francis suddenly snorted.

His voice was deeper and friendlier when he said, helpfully, "Don't tell me this is how quiet you are around Alfred? No one this quiet could ever put up with him, and I know for sure you don't let him walk all over you. I won't have it!"

A tease, and a bold one, but it did the job well, and Ludwig managed to lift his eyes and smile, just a little.

His heart hammered.

Francis, seeing he was making headway, added, "I used to see you walking all the time. Alfred and I. He always looked so nervous whenever you were there. I thought maybe he was afraid of you. I was glad that someone was keeping him in line."

Ha. So, Ludwig hadn't been the only one to notice Alfred's reluctance to be around him all those years. Comforting.

Bolstered a little, the nausea died down a bit, and Ludwig found his voice long enough to say, "Sir, no one can keep Alfred in line."

A short hesitation, perhaps as Francis struggled to sort out Ludwig's accent, and then he actually laughed, quite loudly.

"That's spot on!"

Whew.

So far, so good.

After a short silence, Ludwig asked, so tentatively, "So. You don't... It's alright with you? Me? Us, I mean..."

He foundered, lost his nerve and his voice, and averted his eyes yet again.

A hesitation, and an airy snort.

"It's...an adjustment. I'm still a bit shocked, but I'm working on it. I'm trying. Meeting you was the first step, really. I am sorry, about the last time. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"It's alright," Ludwig quickly offered. "It was nothing new. It didn't bother me."

That was true, but Francis' brow came down and his lips pushed out, as if that were distasteful somehow.

Another moment of thought, and Francis said, far more honestly, "It's been made apparent to me that Alfred isn't going to choose anyone over you. So, if I want to stay in his life, I better get used to you. I love my nephew, I really do. No matter what. I may not... Well. He's the only family I have. I'll do anything for him. All I can really do is get to know you, I suppose."

Naturally. It wasn't easy to throw away the last bit of family, no matter what, and so even if Francis didn't approve by any means he would still be civil and tolerable, and that was all Ludwig could have ever hoped or asked for.

It was a lot easier after that.

Francis asked, "So! Do you have family here?"

Just like that, Ludwig found his confidence, his voice, and started talking at last. Ludwig, after all, wouldn't waste the chance to brag about Gilbert. Francis seemed a bit relieved, and they just sat there at the table for a good long while, chatting with each other.

And when Alfred came home hours later and walked through the door, when he saw Ludwig sitting at that table with Francis, the smile on his face could have easily burnt up the sun for its brightness.

Francis' smile was far softer, subdued and calm, and Ludwig just enjoyed looking back and forth between them to pick out similarities.

Alfred yanked out a chair, flipped it around, straddling it and resting his folded arms atop it to gawk at them, and happily inserted himself into the conversation. Another surreal moment in time, one that Ludwig had never expected but was grateful for.

When Francis left late at night, Alfred hugged him so long that Francis had to physically disengage himself in order to leave.

Alfred was in the clouds for the rest of the night.

He wasn't the only one.

Francis had boosted Ludwig's confidence, had helped him regain some semblance of worth, had uplifted Ludwig just enough for him to see above the shadows, however briefly. Having someone on Alfred's end offer Ludwig words of encouragement was what he needed, in the end, to do what he had been trying to do for months.

That night, as Alfred's lied atop him and rested, Ludwig pressed his forehead into Alfred's, gathered up his courage, and finally, at long last, said it.

"I love you."

The first time he had ever said it, and possibly the last, because saying it then had nearly made him pass out, he swore it, he was so dizzy and terrified.

Oh, but Alfred's beautiful expression, one Ludwig had never seen, as Alfred's eyes ran over his face. Worth the anxiety.

Could have been elation, that look, potent and undiluted.

The only time Ludwig ever said it.

Once was enough.

---

'I guess I was wrong.'

The first words Francis had said to Alfred, when they had come face to face after that night.

Alfred had gone to Francis' house the very next day, too excited to wait much longer. Had been something he had never seen coming, and it was the kind of support and happiness and confidence he really needed then, as his imaginary world kept on collapsing.

Needed Francis more than he needed anyone.

Francis had barely opened the door when Alfred barged inside and corralled him, crying, "So what do you think, huh?"

Francis fell back, startled, as Alfred threw an arm over his shoulders and all but strangled him.

Was far too riled up to be calm, and Francis squirmed, trying very hard to get out of Alfred's arms. Alfred let him go, but Francis was teasing him, perhaps, because he just lifted his chin, looked Alfred up and down, and walked silently into the kitchen.

Alfred chased after him, trying to get a response, but Francis seemed keen to draw out the suspense.

"Well?" Alfred asked, eagerly, circling Francis to force him still. "What do you think? Huh? Don't you— Don't you like him? You finally met him. What do you think?"

Francis finally sat down, Alfred dragging a chair over and practically sitting atop him, and he rolled his shoulders up and down as he looked Alfred in the eye.

A long, quiet stare.

Alfred was fidgeting, painfully so.

Sure could be a jerk when he wanted to, Francis, and maybe he was who Alfred had gotten that trait from all along.

"Can't you talk?" Alfred pressed, as Francis' blank face threatened to crack. "Say something! What do you think? You like him? Huh?"

A barely suppressed smirk.

"Well," Francis finally began. "I guess I was wrong. You really do care for each other, don't you?"

Obviously.

Not what he was asking, and Alfred was close to combusting when he pressed, "Do you like him or not, man? Come on! I need to know. He's great, right? Don't you like him?"

Please, just like him. Needed Francis to like Ludwig, needed him to get it through his head at last that Alfred wasn't going to just let Ludwig go and be 'normal'. Needed Francis to back him, to encourage him, needed Francis to just tell him, if nothing else, that he didn't hate Ludwig.

Needed Francis to give Alfred his blessing, if only by not detesting the man Alfred was with.

Francis kept on staring at him, and then, finally, said, "Well, Alfred. I think he's a nice guy. Nicer than I thought, actually. I didn't expect that."

Yeah, the first impression of Ludwig was absolutely the wrong one. Gentle and sweet as could be. Nothing mean about him, no matter how stern and harsh he could seem. Had never seen a face so entirely misleading as the one Ludwig had.

Eager and anxious, Alfred prodded, "Yeah?"

Francis smiled, and said, a bit too cheerfully, "He's really done a number on you, hasn't he?"

More than that—Alfred would have set the world on fire if Ludwig had asked him to.

He nodded, though, and Francis seemed to smile a bit more serenely. A lower voice.

"I know we sort of talked about this, in a way. But, humor me. I just want to hear you say it. I want to know, once and for all : are you really in love?"

Once upon a time, that question would have mortified him.

Not anymore.

And so he answered, without even a hesitation, "Yeah. I am."

Before Francis could say anything else, Alfred's patience broke, and he was unable to keep it in any longer.

"Please! Tell me what you think. Do you like him or not? Huh? Do you like him? He's such a nice guy, if you give him a chance. If you just get to know him, I know you'll like him. Please, just get to know him. We're not... I mean, I wouldn't..."

He trailed off, because he didn't know how to word what he really wanted to say.

What could he really say?

'We're not normal, and I'm sorry about it, but we're not bad people, so please just give us a chance?'

Pitiful.

Alfred felt so damn heavy, suddenly, when he hung his head. Exhausted, out of nowhere. Wanted Francis to be someone he could go to for comfort and support as the world shunned him.

Francis was still staring at him, and then he asked, "Does he make you happy?"

Looking back up, Alfred said, "Yeah," and he was almost alarmed at how thick his voice had become. Cracking. Sounded like he was about to start crying, and that sure as hell wasn't going to happen because he had already made a fool of himself in front of Ludwig. "Yeah, he does, more than anything. I just... I just want him to be there, wherever I am. If he... I don't know what I'd do, if he ever left. Even if you don't really like it, I just... I'd like for you to still be there."

Without batting an eye, Francis said, "I've always been here."

Well—yeah. He had. They butted heads a lot, but Francis really had always been there. It was Alfred who frequently walked out, not Francis.

Alfred looked away, and Francis sighed.

Seemed to be deep in thought.

Francis finally lifted his head, gave a snort, seemed to finally and completely concede to Alfred, and said, "Well, then. Guess that's that. Maybe he's good for you. I did tell you a long time ago that you were welcome to bring him over. That still stands."

Happiness, and above all else an odd sense of justification that he hadn't really earned.

Francis' acceptance meant more than the world's.

Francis tried to tease him a little, and said, "He's too quiet, though. You better shut up sometimes and let him get a word in."

Alfred laughed, and relaxed.

Hope.

"I guess the only thing left to conclude is what you're going to do with your father. I hope that's something you're thinking about. With everything you tell me. I do wonder, though... Tell me—are you planning on moving him into your father's house later on, when... Well, you know."

Had thought about it.

Alfred looked around a bit, and then said, "I was thinking about it, but— I just really wanna get outta here. When it's all over and done with, I just want to try to get out of the city. Go where no one knows us. You know? Start over."

Francis' thoughtful look.

Then, a low, "Good. What I had rather hoped for. I'd worry less that way, I think." A stern look, and Francis was quick to add, "But not too far! Don't you go too far. You can't get away from me that easily."

Relief.

He hugged Francis before parting ways with him that night, and Francis whispered, "We don't always have to agree on everything, but I still love you. Try not to cut me out if I say something you don't like one day. Mm?"

A hint of shame.

Alfred was impulsive, he knew, so quick to anger, so irrational at times. Acted before thinking. Didn't mean to be all or nothing, really. It was just easier to cast something aside that didn't align with his own thoughts, rather than try to see something from someone else's perspective. Had walked out on Francis that night and hadn't gone back, because Francis had unintentionally hurt his feelings. Hadn't tried to work it out, and had chosen to ignore instead.

Not the best reaction, when he knew that Francis loved him, and he loved Francis.

Awkwardly, Alfred murmured back, "I won't. I'm working on it."

"Likewise," was the response, and they put it behind them with a clap of their hands.

Alfred went back home that night feeling quite on top of the world.

Francis was giving Ludwig a chance, and Ludwig had told Alfred at long last that he loved him.

Felt as if he had reached the summit in some way, his prime. Everything he had wanted.

The downside to reaching that summit, of course, was that from there everything could only go back down.

A warm spring day in April.

That time, when Alfred went home, his father wasn't there.

A rush of panic.

He tore the house apart looking for the old man, ran outside and down the neighborhood street. No sight of him, and all he could think of to do was to dart back in, pick up the phone and call Francis.

When Francis picked up, Alfred gave him no time to speak, blurting, "Is my dad over there?"

An odd, "No? What's wrong?"

Alfred hung up, and ran back out.

Where the hell had he gone? What had he gotten into? Was in no state to be wandering about, especially with a damn gun, half-dazed as he was.

Alfred skidded through the streets, lifting himself on his toes to look over the crowds, ran around aimlessly, hoping he would just run into the old man. Didn't find him anywhere close to home, and instead turned tail and made towards Francis', hoping that his father had just been on his way there. Looked all over, and didn't see him. He turned back again, and this time made towards Alice's. He knocked on her door; she answered, but his father wasn't there.

He darted off, ignoring her questions, and crept much more cautiously towards the homes of his former 'friends'. No go. Nothing.

Where could he have gone?

Where else—

A jolt of panic, adrenaline, terror, and Alfred changed direction once more and jogged back towards Ludwig's. Panting furiously and stopping from time to time to catch his breath, he searched the streets, praying that the old man hadn't come down this way to cause more trouble.

But he had come down this way, and when Alfred spotted his father at last, ambling slowly and clumsily down the street, he ran over to him so fast that he swore both of his feet came off of the ground at once. Too damn heavy to run like that, and was entirely winded by the time he skidded up to his father, grabbing him from behind and dragging him over.

Not a damn moment too soon, either, because Alfred knew that he had been heading to that shop in which Ludwig had worked the Christmas before last, the one his father had already caused damage to.

Had almost been in their sights, almost, and would have dreaded that encounter because those people had already cast Ludwig out because of this very reason.

He dragged his father across the street and back out of sight, and hissed, furiously, "Dad! What are you doing out here?"

That time, though, it didn't seem as if the old man was out for malicious purposes; didn't have that look on his face that Alfred knew so well. Just looked rather pleased, almost, and it was clear why when he said, "I was looking for you. I knew you'd be down here."

Huh. Rather clear-headed, to have been able to remember Alfred's time standing in front of that window when he could barely recognize Alfred these days.

He glanced down, but saw no gun on his father.

Relief.

"Come on. Let's go home. Don't come back out here, alright?"

His father just lifted his chin, and replied, "You're never home anymore."

Alfred shook his head, and when they had reached the house, his father was still alert, still calm, and Alfred stayed, but only because he didn't want the old man going back out there searching for him. Hoped that no one there had seen him. Would have made everything worse for Ludwig.

Alfred may have felt trapped, sitting there with his father, and yet, in spite of everything, Alfred was yet aware that it could have been so much worse. They were luckier than some people. The majority of the world may have turned against them, but they had friends yet, and such good ones. More than a lot of people could say.

There were men out there far worse off than they, with no backup and no one there to turn to.

Alice kept Alfred safe on their end, and Lovino kept Ludwig safe on the other. Matthew and Felicia were always encouraging and there to boost morale. Francis was there to keep Alfred's confidence high. Gilbert was there to bring out Ludwig's courage. Antonio was always ready to back them up.

All they needed.

All of these bumps in the road were only that, and wouldn't stop them.

April turned to May.

Steadily, the excitement seemed to die down. Alfred and Ludwig, such a topic of endless discussion, such a scandal, finally trickled away. The city had a short memory span, when it never slept.

No one bothered them much anymore, except for the odd looks. Things calmed. After a while, everyone just seemed to get bored with the whole thing. They moved on to more exciting things, and there was a general sense of peace. Still knew better than to push their luck of course and go needlessly into unfriendly territory, knew better than to be audacious, but it was calm. No one came to their door, no one cornered Alfred on the street, and no one followed Ludwig. The cops had lost interest as much as everyone else.

The city was always moving, always exciting, always full of new things, and Alfred and Ludwig had lost their scandalous glitz.

There came hope again, teasing Alfred as always. Alfred's guard began steadily lowering, as months passed and nothing at all happened.

The only loose thread left in Alfred's life these days was his father.

Just didn't know what to do with him.

The second time that Alfred had gone home to find his father missing, he had darted once more out into the streets in search of him. That time, Alfred found him hours later close to Francis' house. Had intended to visit, no doubt, but had just been too confused to complete the journey.

Alfred walked him back home, and knew then that he couldn't really keep putting it off.

Couldn't keep ignoring this problem.

It was well beyond time to just bite the bullet and cast aside his excuses and find a home nurse. Time to stop contemplating the financial consequences and focus more on the moral ones. But only, of course, if Ludwig were onboard with it.

Time to have a conversation.

Would very much set Alfred back on his plans to whisk Ludwig out of the city when the old man was finally gone, but felt like it had to be done.

So that evening, Alfred dragged Ludwig to the couch, and said, "I need to talk to you about something."

Ludwig tensed up, a bit, but nodded his head, waiting patiently.

"I've been thinkin' about getting a nurse, to watch my dad. So I don't have to go over there anymore."

Ludwig quirked a brow, and was no doubt wondering why Alfred found this to be something he would actually talk about before just 'doing' as he always did.

"Oh? Sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah," Alfred grumbled, as he repositioned himself anxiously. "It's just— It's expensive. Really expensive. So. I'm not gonna do it unless you're alright with it. And I don't know how long it's gonna be before he...you know. Could be years. I know there are better things we can do with that money. What do you think? If you don't want me to, I won't. I can keep checking in, but I think I'd have to stay over there even more."

He already felt as if he stayed far too much. Spent far more time over there than he had ever wanted to, and hated it.

Ludwig's pale eyes ran over his face, lips pushed out thoughtfully, and Alfred waited.

At last, with a sigh, Ludwig reached up patted Alfred's cheek, and said, with finality, "Do what you need to do. We'll figure it out, like we always do. It won't be the end of the world, losing a little money."

Alfred smiled, yanked Ludwig over, and kissed him.

Ludwig tried to squirm away from him, playfully, and chided, "Well? You have permission! Go do what you wanted."

Alfred kept a firm grip on him, and quickly changed tune as he hauled Ludwig back in.

"I'll do it Monday."

As he pinned Ludwig underneath him on the couch, Ludwig just wrapped arms around his neck, feigned an irritated sigh, and grumbled, "Be more professional."

"Professional? Don't know the meaning of the word! I am king of procrastination. Try sayin' that instead."

Ludwig glared up at him, but tried to pronounce 'procrastination' all the same. Failed miserably, and had to kiss Alfred to get him to stop laughing.

A good distraction. Alfred had gotten far too used to finding distractions from important matters that were very pressing, and did so yet again. Sometimes, he just pressed too far.

'I'll do it Monday,' he had said, wasting the last Friday business hours to run his hands over Ludwig.

Shoulda gone right then.

Sunday morning.

Things had been nice lately. So uneventful.

Alfred had been dying to get out of this house and go see the park. Missed seeing Ludwig amongst the trees and flowers. Alfred's confidence was returning, slowly but surely, and he had been feeling sure of himself. Had been in the dark for so long and was restless and eager to put himself back into the world.

So that morning, Alfred looked over at Ludwig and asked, at last, "Is it walking time?"

Ludwig's beautiful smile.

"Thought you would never ask!"

Elation.

How he had missed that, being out with Ludwig, getting a sense of what it had been like before things had gotten so bad, and Alfred had been so excited that he had said, as he pulled on his boots, "Call Gilbert. See if he wants to meet us there. We can all go do something after."

Ludwig's beautiful smile.

And damn! What a spectacular feeling it was, to walk out of that door with Ludwig beside of him, as they stepped into the sunlight together for the first time in months. To look over and see Ludwig there beside of him, their eyes meeting and Ludwig smiling as he had in that previous, wonderful moment in time.

Again, perhaps foolishly, Alfred felt safe.

Trying to reclaim his sense of self and reinsert himself as knight and protector, back out into the vast city.

Ludwig glanced up at the sky, and snorted when he saw the clear blue. Alfred understood, and teased, so cheerfully, "Looks like no rain today. We'll try again next week."

"I look forward to it," Ludwig rumbled, his voice as deep as the thunder he sought out, and Alfred couldn't wait, either.

He was happy, for the first time in a long while, as they walked to the park in the warm weather, and Alfred would intentionally stagger sideways and knock into Ludwig, just to see him lift a brow and look exasperated. Hard not to be playful after be cooped up for so long, and the feeling was very mutual because Ludwig would quickly nudge Alfred back as soon as he regained balance.

People glanced, a few whispers, but it was old news now, and they walked without incident.

Ludwig's chin was held high. Looked happy and sure.

The park was visible in the distance.

Alfred's shoulders were rolled back in assurance, hands tucked in his pockets, gait as swaggering as it had been before the city had tried to knock him down. Arrogant and proud. Felt like the king of the town again, as he always had before.

Ludwig wasn't blind to Alfred's strutting, from that little smirk on his face.

Alfred just happened to glance over, and it was then that he spotted something across the street.

He stopped so abruptly mid-step that he almost fell face-first, and someone behind bumped into him and cursed him. He stood stark still, staring across the street in alarm.

The old man.

Damn! Had gotten out, was wandering again. Alfred watched him going down the street in the opposite direction, going where Alfred had come from, and knew that the old man was trying to find him again.

He heard himself hiss, "Shit!"

Ludwig tried to see what Alfred was staring at, but couldn't, asking, "What's wrong?"

"Wait here," Alfred said, as he looked both ways and darted across the street without eating a taxi, and when he reached the other side and sped after his father, he didn't stop to look back and make sure that Ludwig was listening to him.

Was too focused on grabbing the old man before he reached his destination.

They were on thin ice with the Germans; if Alfred's father kept coming around, Alfred was fairly certain that the community would band together to run Alfred and Ludwig out entirely. Didn't want that, didn't, and couldn't let them see him.

He reached his father, grabbed his arm and whirled him around.

His father looked a bit confused, but smiled when he saw Alfred, quick to chide, "There you are! Been looking everywhere for you! You're supposed to be grounded."

Alfred meant to start dragging his father along to take him back home, remembered Ludwig, and turned his eyes to the other side of the street. Was going to use gestures to tell Ludwig what his intentions were, but as Alfred looked past the honking cars, there was no flash of blond.

Ludwig wasn't there.

A jolt of adrenaline, and Alfred glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Ludwig coming down the street towards them.

Had told him to stay put; why had he followed?

No time to think, and Alfred opened his mouth.

And then his father's eyes spied Ludwig coming up from the back, and it was if a switch had flipped. Something set off the wire, and his father suddenly shoved Alfred back, crying, "Look out, kid!" and had pulled a gun out from within his beltline.

Happened so fast Alfred could barely comprehend.

All he knew when he regained his balance was that his wide-eyed father was pointing a gun at a wide-eyed Ludwig, and everyone on the street had backed up in alarm.

Terror.

Had never felt such terror as he did then, seeing his deranged old man holding a gun on Ludwig, knowing that his father saw a German soldier there, and knowing he would fire.

Ludwig must have known it too, had to, because Alfred could see that awful flash of fear on his face, and the pulse racing away in his neck. The dilation of his pupils and the bristling of his stance. The sharp inhale of breath, as instincts kicked in and senses heightened.

Alfred was frozen in place, in horror and fear, and didn't know what to do. Wanted to lunge forward but didn't dare; couldn't risk setting the old bastard off, not with Ludwig in his crosshairs like that.

The old man had mistaken Alfred yet again for that dead young soldier, and now Ludwig was likely the German that had killed him to begin with.

Helplessness.

Oh—this was all his fault, his fault, why hadn't he just taken the fuckin' gun that day? All he had had to do was take the gun, coulda taken it then and wouldn't be here right now—

And then, suddenly, something rather remarkable happened.

Something Alfred would certainly never forget, anyway, for the rest of his damn life, never. Would never forget that moment.

Ludwig, staring down the barrel of that gun, suddenly exhaled, and it was as if everything in him had suddenly calmed right down. His pupils constricted again, his pulse slowed down, his stance relaxed. The fear and alarm on his face faded, and suddenly Ludwig just lifted his chin, rolled his shoulders back, stood up straight, and looked so dignified.

Looked so proud, suddenly, so brave, so unbothered and so unafraid, utterly tranquil.

Alfred had never once seen him like that, and it was beautiful.

Ludwig just stood there, didn't move at all, didn't speak. Just stared straight at that gun silently and didn't even flinch. In that moment, Ludwig was the most astounding thing Alfred had ever seen. Bravest man on the planet, he was sure of it, Ludwig in that instant. For the second time, Ludwig stood before an American soldier with a gun, and this time he wasn't scared.

As if Ludwig had just decided that if he was going to die, then he was going to do so gracefully and with dignity.

That woke Alfred up, because Ludwig wasn't dying today, he wasn't, not today, not here, and not like this.

He lifted his foot, and took a step to the side, calling, "Dad! Look over here. It's me. The war's over, dad!"

A twitch of his father's eyes in Alfred's direction, as Alfred took another step.

"That's good! It's me! It's just Alfred. There's no soldier here, dad. It's over. You don't have to fight anymore."

A look of confusion, but the gun was ever aimed.

As slowly as he could, Alfred crept forward, closer and closer, trying so hard to stay calm, trying so hard to keep everything under control.

"Dad! Over here, look at me. It's me, it's Alfred, over here."

A quick glance, lost shortly after.

Ludwig was very still, and Alfred came ever closer.

So close, just a little more, was almost in front of Ludwig. Just a little more.

"Dad. Come on. Look over here, huh? Look here. It's me. This way, look at me."

One more glance, but it was what Alfred needed.

At last, finally, Alfred was successfully standing in front of Ludwig and blocking him from his father's sights. The gun pointed at his chest hardly mattered, as long as Ludwig was tucked back and safe.

Trying to catch the old man's gaze was a lot harder, as unfocused as he was. Looked so confused and lost, and Alfred wasn't sure if his father could really discern Alfred from the imaginary soldier. Who his father saw in that second.

Alfred took a step forward, so carefully.

The intention was to get close enough to his father to take the gun without getting shot, in one way or another.

"Dad, it's me. Don't you recognize me?"

His father's hand was shaking, terribly, hardly able to keep a steady aim at Alfred as he took one more step.

Behind, Ludwig breathed, so quietly and carefully, "Alfred. Don't. Please."

Alfred flung his hand slowly behind him, trying to tell Ludwig to keep quiet, and Ludwig obeyed, as Alfred tried to take one more step.

So close.

"It's Alfred. You know me. It's alright. The war—"

And then suddenly, awful shrieking in German.

Every hair on Alfred's body stood up in terror, and he knew in an instant without even looking that Gilbert was there, that Gilbert was no doubt barging through the crowd that very second to come and save his little brother. Oh, god, that awful, booming screaming.

Alfred had never heard a voice as terrifying as Gilbert's, and his father heard it too.

So many stories of screaming German soldiers. Staring at the ends of rifles across barricades. The trembling of the ground as tanks came rolling in. That awful shrieking. Men screeching in languages that the other end couldn't understand.

Setting barns on fire—

Ruckus all around, chaos, cacophony, and for a surreal moment Alfred felt so lost at sea, so stuck in the atmosphere, so alone and so lost and so afraid. In the void, although there were people all around. Didn't understand how it was possible to feel so alone when there were hundreds of people around him on all sides. Could only see his father then, eyes widening in terror at the sound of Gilbert's voice. Could only see the blur of the gun, as it raised up in Gilbert's general direction as he burst through the crowd. A flash of Ludwig's pale hair in a blurry movement.

Could only hear the discharge then, as his father fired blindly.

Gilbert's awful screams.

Somehow, despite the daze, Alfred managed to turn his head, and the immediate sensation was indescribable relief, god that relief, because Ludwig may have been in front of Gilbert, but they were both still standing. Ludwig had leapt in to shield Gilbert, but it had been for naught because clearly his father had just missed.

Ludwig turned his head to Alfred.

That look.

Meeting Ludwig's pale eyes, lit up in the sunlight; what relief.

A long, horrible stare, and Alfred could see how hard Ludwig was trying to breathe, trying to stay still, but it somehow didn't click in his head at all until Ludwig abruptly staggered down onto one knee, despite his best effort. Just didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, until he saw the stain of red spreading across Ludwig's shirt.

No—

His father's gun was still held there in the direction of Gilbert, who was shrieking again as he too fell down to one knee to clench Ludwig's collar, looking utterly distraught.

The gun aimed again.

Alfred lunged.

A second shot, before Alfred could make it over.

It wasn't Gilbert that fell over, though—his old man fell instead, staggering back and then collapsing. The sound of the gun clattering on the concrete.

Confusion. Had never been so confused. Just couldn't comprehend anything going on around him.

The old man didn't move.

Alfred looked over, as shock kept him from hysteria, if only momentarily, and saw.

Lovino.

Standing a ways back, in front of the crowd, gun in hand and looking about as shocked as Alfred. A glance back and forth between Alfred and the old man, Lovino's dark eyes quite wide, and Alfred looked down at his father from beyond that fog.

Sound had gone out. Couldn't hear anything, anything at all. Dull throbbing in his ears.

His eyes were drawn to the other side by motion, to see Gilbert clenching Ludwig's hand with his left and using his right to press down on Ludwig's abdomen.

...where was he?

Didn't know what was happening.

Felt lost and out in space, confused, dazed, and Alfred felt his feet moving on their own as he tumbled over to Gilbert and fell still before him, staring down at Ludwig as if he had never seen him before.

Still couldn't hear. Gilbert's mouth was moving, frantically, but everything seemed rather far away.

A pain in his knees, as Alfred fell down to them, one palm on the concrete for balance as he leaned forward, the other reaching out to snatch Ludwig's hand when Gilbert let it go to use both hands instead to press down on the wound.

Didn't know what the hell was going on.

His ears were ringing.

Ludwig turned his head, met Alfred's eyes, and it felt in some way as if they were looking at each other from through a thick mist. Knew the other was there, but couldn't exactly see. Ludwig's gaze was so unfocused, and Alfred felt that he was staring through Ludwig rather than at him. Standing on opposite sides of a cloudy mirror.

Ludwig's lips moved—couldn't hear him.

A smile, weak and yet still so pretty. Damn, how he loved it when Ludwig smiled. A gentle squeeze of his hand, and it took Alfred a rather long while to realize that Ludwig's eyes had closed.

His balance faltered, he fell sideways, and then he was sitting, legs before him and propped up on his hands. Looked over, as the edges of his vision seemed to get just a bit dark.

The old man didn't move at all, though bystanders had come forward to press his wound as Gilbert was Ludwig's.

Come to think, though...

Ludwig wasn't moving, either.

He looked up.

Lovino just stood there, so calmly. So placidly. Tucked his gun away and pulled out a cigarette instead. Couldn't seem to light it, though, because his hands were shaking so badly. When he finally managed, he just inhaled and looked around, back and forth, and seemed rather lost. Dazed. Shocked. Was that how Alfred looked?

Over the garbled chaos, the distant sound of sirens.

Alfred still didn't know where he was. What was happening.

Just sat there on his backside on the sidewalk, held up on his palms and staring dumbly at Gilbert, who had fallen ever lower, his forehead pressing into Ludwig's cheek as he pushed down, and Alfred could see in Gilbert's terrible shaking that he was crying. Could only faintly hear him wailing.

Damn, was Ludwig ever pale.

Always had been.

Something warm on his hand; he looked down, blearily, the edges of his vision blurring with the movement, dragging, and saw that the trail of blood had reached him. Couldn't move. Just stared at it, ears ringing.

Lovino staggered over and sat down on the curb, staring off at nothing.

Blurs and movement. The siren was louder.

An awful pain suddenly started blazing behind his eyes. Throbbing. Aching. His head was pounding.

The mists started to thin.

Numbness was fading as the shock began to wear off. Hysteria started to rise in its place.

That dullness sharpened. Color bled in. The ringing in his ears faded. Everything that had been so slow and blurry sped back up. Panic and terror, crashing through the fog. A burning surge of adrenaline, lighting up his nerves. An inhale so deep it was painful.

And the first thing that Alfred could clearly hear, when his senses returned, was the sound he wished he could have gone the rest of his life without experiencing; Gilbert's awful sobbing. Wailing.

It hit him hard, that sensory overload, and Alfred was once more on his knees, this time alert and painfully aware of where he was and what was happening, and he pressed his hands atop Gilbert's bloody ones, adding more pressure, and hoping every time he looked down that Ludwig would just open his eyes.

Just wake up.

He didn't.

The siren was upon them. Screeching tires.

Alfred didn't realize that he was bawling as hard as Gilbert was, wasn't aware of it. Could only see that red pouring over Gilbert's fingers, seemingly no matter how hard they pressed. It had run down Ludwig's chest, and down his neck.

The awful sight of that bright crimson on pale Ludwig; wasn't right.

Shouting.

The police officers barged onto the street.

Alfred could see them out of the corner of his eye, but wasn't fully aware of them, staring at Ludwig as he was through his helpless sobbing.

Why wouldn't he just wake up? Say something. Anything. Just let Alfred know that he was gonna be alright, was that too fuckin' much to ask? Was it?

A rush of irrational anger, fighting with the panic.

Hated the way the blood felt on his hands.

...shoulda been quicker. Shoulda acted quicker, shoulda been faster, had had a chance there to lunge, he had, just hadn't been quick enough, had hesitated, caught in that stupor—

Screaming, as the officers tried to regain control. A few of them had knelt over the old man and were picking him up, taking him to the vehicle.

Alfred didn't budge, and neither did Gilbert, when the men came over. Wouldn't move, wouldn't let up, wouldn't take his hands off of Ludwig, because in that moment touching Ludwig was the only thing keeping Alfred from having a complete breakdown, feeling him and knowing that he was still there, even if he wouldn't open his eyes. Even though he wouldn't speak.

He was shoved off, very forcefully, and Gilbert was dragged back.

Again, Alfred found himself on his backside, watching helplessly.

In a second, Ludwig was gone, and Gilbert was shrieking as he tried to break free and follow. Couldn't that time, no matter how hard he tried, and when the sirens were far away Gilbert just seemed to give up. Fell limp and still, and slid down to the ground, burying his face in his blood-soaked hands and crying.

Alfred was too damn dumb; couldn't even feel his legs anymore. Sat there and stared at the blood on the sidewalk. Had stopped crying. Couldn't think.

All that blood.

Knowing who it had come from.

The police were questioning the crowd, scribbling away, and Alfred glanced up.

Several people in the crowd pointed towards Lovino, who was ever silent and still. A gun pointed quickly at him, but Lovino didn't flinch. Just took one final long drag on his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and raised his hands to the level of his chest. They had stopped shaking. Steady.

A hand grabbed his arm.

Alfred looked up. The cop was talking to him, but too damn fast. Couldn't comprehend. Was just too much, so much, and he was pulled to his face. The officer shook him a little, trying to get him to focus.

When it didn't work, he led Alfred over to the waiting car.

As the door opened and Alfred was gently pushed in, he glanced over in time to see Lovino being handcuffed.

The door slammed shut.

The smell of blood, overwhelming and potent.

How had it come to this?

Alfred pressed his forehead into the glass, and watched the blurry street suddenly fly by, too dazed to care about what was actually happening. Couldn't think about anything.

Just kept hearing Ludwig's voice.

That wasn't fair—Ludwig had just said those words.

Had waited every night to hear them.

The castle was gone. Razed, leaving only scorched earth behind. Had tried so hard to protect Ludwig, but the tower had failed, had been too tall, had collapsed, and Alfred had lost Ludwig in the rubble. Had failed miserably in his role of knight.

His shield had shattered and had left them exposed and helpless.

Alfred had lost Ludwig, and he couldn't find him, however far under the rubble he dug.

Nothing there.

The only time Alfred had ever felt happy was when Ludwig's palms had held his face.

Night.